


the plan

by kxrthxmmel



Category: Glee
Genre: Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s05e03 The Quarterback, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26477893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxrthxmmel/pseuds/kxrthxmmel
Summary: kurt and blaine come home after the funeral
Relationships: Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 51





	the plan

As soon as the funeral is over, he feels like he’s floating.

He feels miles and miles away when the priest is talking, going up and and up and up, words being spoken soon start to blur and become unclear. His feet lift off the ground and his body becomes weightless, his fingers slip away from the hand in his and he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop floating until he reaches the sun.

He realises he’s in a car when someone’s clicking his seatbelt over his body, a bit of an awkward angle and Kurt almost  _ laughs  _ at the familiarity of this notion, the memory of another funeral years ago, and he takes his own belt from Blaine’s hands and does it himself.

Blaine drives, obviously, and Kurt just stares out at nothing. The roads all seem the same. Each tree, house, car, person the pass seems like a carbon copy of the last. He always knew Lima was a big pit of dullness, but sitting here watching it whiz past them as they leave the cemetery and head home, Kurt realises that this place is maybe worse than he always had thought.

There’s a hand on his hand and it’s warm. Blaine’s thumb runs over his knuckle until it’s gone again as he switches gear.

He can almost feel the ghosting of his touch on his skin – almost like how everything is a ghost now.

They pull up in the drive; his dad’s car isn’t here yet, and Kurt supposed he and Carole probably stayed a little longer and his chest goes tight at the thought of leaving them there.

He feels like he’s eight again, afraid to let his loved ones out of his sight only for a second.

He swallows down his fear as he unbuckles himself with shaky hands, and before he can turn to open the door, Blaine is already there, giving him a cautious look, like Kurt is some wild animal that might just take off now that he’s been left in the open.

He doesn’t though. He stumbles out of the car, to the front door, through the hallway, leaning against the wall as Blaine shrugs his jacket off and toes off his shoes, leaving them neatly on the mat.

“Are you hungry?” Blaine asks; his voice doesn’t  _ sound  _ like his though. It sounds like someone else crawled into his skin and is instead a monster of grief that’s posing as his fiancé.

Kurt swallows the lump in his throat and shakes his head. In truth he can’t remember when he last ate. Maybe the day before, or the day before that, he can’t be sure. 

But despite the gnawing emptiness of his stomach, he doesn’t think he could even  _ look _ at food right now, as much as eat it.

Blaine nods, and Kurt knows he’s probably a little disappointed. He knows he’s trying to pull and push between his own grief and the grief of his fiancé that just lost his brother.

“Are you?” Kurt manages, surprised his voice even works.

Blaine takes a step forward, his socked feet so quiet on the wood flooring. “Not yet,” he tells him, his hands brush against Kurt’s. “You wanna lay down?”

The stairs seem like a mountainous climb, but the promise of his bed and Blaine pressed up against him is enough for him to want to tackle it.

He nods, no longer trusting what’s left of his voice, and takes Blaine’s hand in his.

The climb the stairs together, Kurt keeping his head down to avoid pictures on the wall, like cruel reminders of what once was.

A baby picture of Kurt. A baby picture of Finn. There’s one of Burt and Carole’s wedding. A Christmas family photo of the four of them.

Bile rises in his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut, trying desperately to rid the images in his head as they swarm him, but it’s useless.

He thinks about a previous birthday and how they’d all taken a trip to Breadstix and how hard Finn had laughed at Kurt’s embarrassment when he’d realised his family had planned for all the waitstaff to come out with a cheesecake and to sing  _ Happy Birthday _ to him.

He remembers that moment, clear as anything in his mind, but he tries to think about what their last, unknowing conversation was, and his mind blanks.

When had he spoken to him last? Why can’t he remember? Did he hug him? Did he say  _ I love you _ ?

He doesn’t realise they’re in his room until he’s being sat down on the bed. His body feels numb, like he’s still floating, just a couple of inches off the ground.

He can hear Blaine moving around but he can’t look at him. He can’t open his mouth and speak, because it feels like if he does, he’ll just break and come crashing back down.

“Let’s get you out of these, hm?”

Blaine is lifting his arms up and Kurt goes willingly as his jacket is pulled off. He works down his buttons and his shirt comes off next.

He bends down on his knees, pausing to look up at Kurt. 

“Want me to do your pants?” He asks gently.

Kurt only nods as Blaine pulls off each shoe and lines them neatly beside the bed.

He fumbles on the buckle for a second but manages to work it off. He pulls down his suit trousers until he’s left in just his underwear and socks, sat on the edge of the bed, unsure of what to do.

There’s the sound of more clothes being shrugged off, falling to the ground with a soft thud, and the rustling of bedsheets and a dip of the bed.

“C’mon,” Blaine calls to him softly, patting the bed. “Come lay with me.”

Kurt does exactly that, falling back to where the bed and Blaine is waiting for him. Blaine pulls the blanket over their bodies, knees bumping against each other, toes dig into his shin and Blaine wraps a protective arm around him, pulling him closer where he tucks his longer, more slender body against his, like they were made to fit.

He can just about hear the beating of Blaine’s heart where he’s pressed up against his chest. It’s a faint thudding sound, rhythmic and steady. His fingers brush against his hairless, smooth chest, feeling how warm he is under his touch.

Because Blaine is alive. He’s okay. He’s safe and they’re fine. 

There’s two heartbeats here that are strong and healthy, and one quiet, still one, just a drive away, six feet under fresh dirt.

He feels his eyes burn but he doesn’t cry.

“Is my dad coming back?” Kurt croaks, mumbling against the skin against his lips. He really does feel like he’s a child again, coming back from a wet, muddy cemetery with eyes that were sore and tired from tears, and a hand that aches to be held.

Blaine holds him a little tighter, tucking his chin over the top of his head. 

“They text me,” he starts, voice hoarse. “They’ll be back in about an hour or so.”

Kurt hums, assuming that perhaps they’re mingling, or talking to people at the church, maybe just sat at the grave, unwilling to leave just yet.

Because then it’s really over, isn’t it?

Once the funeral and the pleasantries are passed, it’s done. They’ll shrug off their smart, black suits and dresses and go home and keep living.

But it won’t be like that for Finn, or Kurt, or his dad or Carole.

He can take off his suit and throw it to the floor and cry and be polite. He can play that game and go by the rules that he’s already so painfully aware of by now.

But he’ll never stop grieving; not really. He’ll learn to cope. He’ll start smiling at memories instead of crying. He’ll look through photos and videos and laugh and the rock in his stomach will soon disappear.

He’s dealt with grief once before and he knows how long and painful of a journey it is. He just didn’t ever think in a million years that he’d be experiencing it all over again like this.

His break hitches and he squeezes his eyes shut.

“He was supposed to dance with me,” Kurt breathes. There’s a beat of silence, and then Blaine is running his fingers in his hair. “Hm?”

Kurt sniffs. “He was going to dance with me, at our wedding. I always said I’d get him back for his impromptu dance number at our parents wedding,” he tells him wetly, trying to laugh but it’s just too painful.

Blaine’s breath shudders and Kurt wonders if he’s crying too.

“He was gonna be our best man,” Kurt carries on, unable to stop himself now that he was letting it go. He sucks in a sharp breath. “He was gonna write some stupid speech and have everyone laughing.”    
  
Tears trickle down his face. “He was gonna be your brother-in-law. He’d go to football games with you on the weekend whilst I’d go to the mall with Rachel,” he says, voice wobbling.

Blaine’s hands are running over his head soothingly as he hiccups a soft cry.   
  
“He was going to be  _ such  _ a good uncle,” Kurt says painfully. “He’d hoist them up on his shoulders, a thousand feet high. He’d swing them around and they’d have that- that infectious giggle kids have when someone makes them laugh hard.”   
  
He sighs heavily.    
  
“He was going to come home, Nationals after Nationals after Nationals, with a big, goofy grin on his face because he’d be  _ so _ proud of his kids at McKinley,” he shudders, taking a shaky breath. 

Then, “How do we keep going?”   
  
A sob breaks through and his whole body jolts, like he’s been shot, and Blaine is there to hold him tight, like a promise of never letting go.   
  
“We have to,” Blaine tells him, his lips are pressing to the top of his head. “We just have to keep going, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Kurt.”   
  
Kurt whimpers. “I don’t know how,” he admits quietly. “I don’t know how to do it without him.”   
  
Blaine sniffs. “Me neither,” he whispers. “But we do it together, yeah? Me and you? And Carole and your dad,” he lists off, voice cracking. “We do it with Tina and Sam, Artie and Santana and Britt,” he adds. “We don’t do it alone, okay? We’ll be okay, as long as we have each other.”   
  
Kurt nods and sniffs wetly. “Promise?” He asks. It’s a silly thing to ask a promise for - nobody can ever promise anything. Life itself can’t even be promised. Had Kurt promised Finn to talk to him soon, the last time he’d called? He could no longer remember. And it didn’t matter now, because Finn was gone and there were probably a million tiny promises left between them, broken and lost over time. 

Blaine holds him close, letting out a breath when Kurt relaxes in his hold, and he kisses his head again, lips lingering in his hair.   
  
“I can only try, Kurt,” he tells him softly. “I can only try.”


End file.
